


The Muse

by unwillingadventurer



Category: Raffles (TV 1977), Raffles - E. W. Hornung
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-08
Updated: 2018-07-08
Packaged: 2019-06-07 04:33:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15211091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unwillingadventurer/pseuds/unwillingadventurer
Summary: Raffles grows frustrated at his inability to find the right model for his painting.





	The Muse

I had been searching for Raffles for hours. He was not at the Albany or the club or anywhere he was supposed to be and I was starting to conjure up all sorts of unimaginable horrors as to his whereabouts. It only struck me at the last moment that Raffles had an art studio and he’d been in a pensive and melancholy mood of late, restless and lethargic, mooning over artwork we’d seen at the National Gallery and complaining that his own paintings were futile in comparison with no passion or flair.

And so, I caught a hansom and made my way to where I imagined he would be and sure enough I could see a dim gas-light through the small window of the studio. I knocked on the door and had to wait a moment or two before it opened and I was greeted by the face of Raffles. His expression was that of total exasperation and he pulled me by the arm into the room and shut the door quickly behind us.

“What’s going on, A.J, I’ve been looking everywhere?”

Raffles indicated to the clear side of the room, where laid out seductively upon a scarlet chaise longue was a glamorous woman. Draped over her was a light white sheet and it only covered her to a minor degree, modestly for art, but not quite modest enough for my sensibilities. 

“Raffles! Why didn’t you tell me!” I covered my eyes, directing the next part at the lady. “I’m terribly sorry, Madam. I don’t wish to interrupt your…uh…”

Raffles laughed. “It’s quite alright, Bunny, save your blushes. Miss. Lockhart is quite the professional.”

Miss Lockhart smiled at me as I managed to open my eyes. “Don’t worry luvvie, I’m not a shrinking violet. It’s not the first time I’ve taken all me clothes off!”

My eyebrows nearly hit the ceiling and I shoved Raffles in the ribs, whispering aside to him. “You’re painting a woman?”

“Well observed, Bunny,” he said as he moved the brush across the canvas with a flourish of the hand. “I’ve been after someone to paint for a while and Miss. Lockhart was only too happy to oblige. I’m not sure about it yet of course, I feel she is too fine for my talents.”

Looking discreetly at the girl, I personally did not understand what he saw in her at all. She was not what one would call elegant and she was not the type of female Raffles usually associated with. 

Viewing his painting, I also didn’t think he had caught her right. Her body was ill-proportioned and the curves were all wrong. 

“I shall leave you to it,” I said, taking one last glance at the artwork before heading towards the door.

“Come to the Albany later for drinks. I’ll update you on my progress,” Raffles called to me.

“Fine.” I shyly tipped my hat at Miss. Lockhart and stammered a goodbye and I exited the studio as quickly as possible. Why did Raffles never let me know what he was doing and so often place me in quite mortifying situations? 

…

Hours passed before I saw him again. I arrived at the Albany late in the evening at his request and he was already pouring me a scotch whiskey as I entered the door. He seemed tired and was smoking a Sullivan, slowly exhaling with much relief. 

“Miss. Lockhart get home alright?” I asked. 

“Oh yes, once she’d put her clothes back on, I put her straight in a hansom and back to the Gaiety.” 

“Ah, she’s on the stage?”

“With a body like that, Bunny, where else would she be?”

I took a sip of my drink. “I’m sure I wouldn’t know, Raffles.”

He laughed. “But that’s my trouble, really. She is perhaps just too beautiful. I can’t get the portrait right at all.”

I coughed. “Have you tried painting her with her clothes on?” I tried not to show the envy creeping through into my voice.

He laughed again. “Oh really, my dear Rabbit. It’s all in the name of art. The physical form in all its beauty. It’s all rather good practice, my dear fellow. I’m just not sure I’ll ever find my ideal model.”

“I thought you said she was beautiful?”

“I said too beautiful and that’s exactly the problem.”

“So, you want someone ugly?”

“No, no, no, just someone that makes me…feel…something, Bunny, a feeling. It has to be there for me to truly express myself onto the canvas.”

“Yes, well when you wish to express yourself onto the canvas in future, could you let me know so I don’t walk in?”

Raffles placed his arm around my shoulder. “I shall try to be more considerate to ease your discomfort.”

“Much obliged.”

…

The next few days passed and I had given little thought to the painting. Raffles was hard at work at the studio and I had most certainly not ventured there for fear of what I might find next. So, what transpired next may come as quite a surprise to you. It was quite a surprise to me.

Raffles summoned me one morning. A telegram reached my flat at Mount Street and I was hard-pressed to find a reason I could be needed so urgently and yet when I looked at the note it was frantic and demanding. Raffles needed me at once and so I would have to visit the studio. When Raffles called upon me I was powerless to resist like a moth to a flame and so I rushed to his aid, expecting the worst- that Mackenzie had found him, that his studio had been ransacked, that Miss. Lockhart was really a spy and holding him for ransom. Of course, when I actually stepped through the door, the scene was quite different.

No blood, no kidnap, no police search, simply a calm Raffles and a beautifully laid out portrait scene with a chaise longue surrounded by an array of attractive flowers in a variety of colours.

“What’s the emergency?” I asked, still breathless from my mad dash to the property. I removed my hat and waited for his response, knowing full well it was not the catastrophe I’d imagined.

“I needed you my old Rabbit.” He approached me and there was a peculiar beckoning look in his eyes. 

“You need me? But what for?”

He pointed to the laid-out scene. “That is a set-up for a painting is it not?”

I nodded. I really was not in the mood. Why didn’t he just state what he wanted?

“And what is missing?” he asked.

“Miss Lockhart.”

He clapped. “Precisely Bunny, the model.”

“Well, where is she?”

“I let her go. Creative differences and all that. She wasn’t too happy but she wasn’t the right model for what I have in mind. I wasn’t inspired. So, I have a new model.”

At this point my interest was wavering. Why was he bothering me in all this nonsense? “Oh yes?” I said, attempting enthusiasm but stifling a yawn.

“Yes, Bunny, you are my new model.”

I was about to reply with ‘that’s nice’ when I realised what he had said. Had I heard him correctly or were my ears still clogged from the bath I’d taken hours earlier? “What did you say?”

He took hold of my hand and began to lead me to the chaise longue. “You, Bunny, warts and all.”

“Warts!”

“It’s merely an expression, Bunny. I simply meant that you, my dear Rabbit, are the perfect subject for my painting. I’m not sure why I never thought of it before. Now sit down old chap.”

I wasn’t entirely sure whether I was flattered or horrified. I think a bit of both and I could barely muster a squeak as he motioned that I remove my clothes. 

“Now, now, don’t be shy, old thing. It’s not like I’ve never seen…”

“A.J!” I felt my cheeks flushing with embarrassment and for once in my life I could barely look him in the eye.

He stood behind his canvas and held the paintbrush high in the air. “Now are you going to pose for me or not?”

I began to remove my tie and loosen my collar. I wasn’t sure what I was doing but I found myself removing the shirt and trousers quicker than I expected.

“See, I knew you’d enjoy it. There’s no shame in it, Bunny. I’m the only one who will see you.”

As soon as I’d removed my clothing, I covered myself quickly with the sheet. “Nobody’s going to see the final portrait are they, Raffles?” 

There was laughter from behind the canvas, yet I couldn’t see him as he was focused on the palette and all the paint colours. 

“Not to worry. My art is very much my own. I don’t care for art critics, Bunny, they’re all rich snobs who only know what’s good art if they’re told what’s good art. Now, are you sure you’re comfortable with me painting you, old sport?”

I cautiously removed the sheet and peered down at my naked body in all its splendour. “I think it’s too late for second thoughts.”

He peered up from the canvas and I almost giggled at the sight of him with grubby cheeks and a paintbrush between his teeth. He quite honestly looked the professional artiste and I spent so long looking at him in those moments, you would have thought he was posing for me and not the other way around. There was something so magnificently captivating about Raffles when he had passion in his heart.

“You see, Bunny. I couldn’t capture Miss. Lockhart. The angles and curves were all wrong.” He looked at me with a concentrated expression. “Oh, Bunny, do relax. You’re far too rigid. Lay out, be at ease, imagine we’re together at the Albany.”

“I was never sitting at the Albany with my clothes off!” 

“So that’s what troubles you, it’s an unfair set-up?”

I blushed again. It was peculiar enough at the Turkish Baths being half-naked, but at least there, there weren’t any artists lurking with paintbrushes ready to capture every inch of my body. “Well, I must say, A.J, it is rather awkward.”

To my complete surprise Raffles began to remove his shirt, followed by his trousers and his under-things until he was standing there naked as the day he was born. He stood regally, not a care in the world or with any shame as he smiled at me. “This better?”

I laughed. “A.J, really!”

“The naked painter. Sort of has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?”

“I suppose one can’t be nude when he commits burglary or plays cricket,” I chuckled. 

“It is immensely freeing.”

“I think I prefer my clothes on.”

He approached me and slapped my thigh. “Nonsense! Let’s get to work.”

“Excuse me?” My voice rose higher than expected. 

“The art, my dear chap, the art. You are my model. I shall like you to own the space. I picked you because you look like a real person, paunch and all.”

I took a swipe at him but accidentally caught his buttock instead of his leg, leaving an embarrassing red hand mark. I tried to ignore it. “Enough of the paunch if you don’t mind!”

“I just mean a realistic body. You have the right contours, the ‘je ne sais quoi’. I’ve never been very good at painting the female of the species, Bunny, and for some reason, your form appeals to me.”

“Oh, well thank you A.J.”

“Don’t mention it. Now, can we get back to the matter at hand? Give me that innocent look, Bunny, you do it so well.”

I may well have had the most innocent face, but in that moment, I felt far from innocent. In fact, I cannot tell you what I was thinking and I never shall be able to form those words into a readable sentence. That day is etched in my memory forever. The day I became the muse of A.J Raffles.


End file.
